


Healing Hearts

by FestiveFerret



Series: Hands and Hearts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, DUM-E is definitely on standby with the fire extinguisher, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Narcotic Abuse, Pining, SHIELD Medical Is Magical, Scary Snake Alien Thingies, Sexual Content, Tony Has a Comic Book Fetish, alternate POV, tony is broken, worried steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: Steve was tired.





	Healing Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning!! This is not a sequel to Helping Hands - it’s a retelling from Steve’s POV (sorry). It was begging to be told, so I let it out. If you’re into that, read on (it should also still make sense if you haven't read Helping Hands). If you want more Hands, but you’re not into the same story again you can control+F for “Two years later” and jump to the epilogue, which comes after the epilogue in Helping Hands and can be read straight on from reading Hands. If you came here first, but you'd rather read Tony's POV click back one to Helping Hands!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to the lovely ashes for beta and pompoms, as always <3

 

Steve was tired.

He didn’t look ninety but he sure felt it sometimes. Getting used to modern culture wasn’t that bad, though being a celebrity in 2013 was a lot different than being one in 1943. But he could deal with the paparazzi and talk shows and women asking him to sign...things, because the Tower provided the perfect refuge whenever he needed one.

There was only one problem.

The problem was a manic, somewhat alcoholic, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Tony clearly had it bad for Steve, but Steve was pretty sure everyone knew it except for Tony himself. He’d been living in the tower for months and Tony had yet to make a move - unless you count being glued to his heels as a move.

Steve didn’t.

Tony’s energy seemed to ratchet up to eleven every time Steve entered the room, until he was bouncing off the walls. Sometimes the energy came out as picking a fight, sometimes he flat out ignored Steve, but vibrated at everyone else. More than once, a conversation with Steve that verged on friendly was followed suspiciously closely by a long business trip to some remote location.

Getting Tony to sit and talk and be himself for longer than thirty seconds was nearly impossible so Steve stopped trying. He stayed calm and still and let Tony fly into the sliding glass door of their relationship as often as he wanted. But it was frustrating as all get out.

So, Steve was tired.

Tired of waiting for something that was increasingly unlikely to happen. Tired of getting excited every time Tony seemed like he was giving in to his feelings, only to have it fall apart. Tired of interviewers asking him if microwaves ‘freaked him out’ because after you’d seen some of the shit Tony pulled in his lab, heating food quickly wasn’t exactly ‘freak out’ worthy.

It was a Tuesday when Steve finally gave up.

He was splayed out on the common room couch, half-drunk coffee going cold next to him as he devoured The Once and Future King - 23rd on his list of books to catch up on. 

Tony walked in the room, tablet in hand, looked up and saw Steve and walked out again. Ten seconds later he walked back in, stood stock-still for about twenty seconds, then said, “Hey, Cap,” as if he’d done nothing odd, and sat down on the other end of the couch. 

Tony spent the next two hours glued to the tablet, subtly inching closer and closer to the cushion where Steve sat. Each sigh, wiggle and adjust shifted him a few inches further from the opposite arm of the sofa and into Steve’s space. Until he gave one last squirm and touched his thigh to Steve’s. As soon as they made contact Tony lept to his feet and skittered out of the room like there was a Doombot on his heels.

Steve had to laugh. 

That was when he gave up on waiting and decided he was going to kiss Tony Stark.

He didn’t know exactly when - he still wanted to pick the right moment - but the next time a moment came along that could conceivably be shaped into the right one, he was going to have his sculpting tools out in a hot second.

As it was, he spent more of the next six weeks answering Avengers calls than attempting to carve twitchy couch time into an opportunity for a first kiss. The team was working well together - though Tony still took every possible chance to defy orders - but it also seemed like New York’s evil underbelly was rolling over and showing itself more and more.

This time, however, the threat came from the sky in the form of a mob of angry, snake aliens. Steve tried to organize the team to work alongside the SHIELD agents already in place, but, of course, Tony went off script almost immediately, proclaiming that he, “got this one,” before going silent on his comms.

Steve carefully counted to ten.

Then twenty.

At twenty-four he was able to ungrit his teeth enough to order the agent in charge to push back the barriers on the north and west sides of the conflict.

He was just turning away to lead the team towards the theatre when there was a horrible screeching sound, like metal on metal, through the comm, followed by a pained grunt.

“Iron Man?” Steve asked cautiously. There was no answer. “Iron Man, status.” Still nothing.

Steve was opening his mouth to rip into him for ignoring orders, yet again, when a thin, agonized moan cut through his comm.  _ Tony _ .

He spun and started running back to where he’s seen him last. He was two streets over from where Tony had touched down, but the alley ran the length of both blocks, if he could just - 

He skidded around the corner and his heart dropped down into his gut. 

Tony was backed against the wall, his gauntlets off and both bare hands trapped in one of the creatures’ large, scaly, green ones. He slumped against the brick, his body radiating pain, while she rose up on her long tail and hissed down at him.

“Tony!” Steve screamed, rocketing down the long alleyway as fast as he could. There was a horrible crunching sound and Tony keened in agony, choking off in a gasping cry. Blood dripped from their clasped hands onto the asphalt below. Steve screamed his name again as he finally moved close enough to let the shield fly. 

It ripped through the alley, slicing the monster’s arm off at the elbow and releasing Tony. She staggered backwards, against the wall. Steve darted past, resisting the urge to fall at Tony’s side until he was sure it was safe. He wrenched the shield out of the wall where it had embedded itself and with a sharp flick of the wrist it found a new resting place between her twitching shoulders and severed neck.

Steve immediately collapsed on the ground next to Tony, his hands hovering over him. not sure what he should do first. Tony’s face was still trapped behind the expressionless mask of the suit; Steve didn’t even know if he was conscious.

“I'm fine,” Tony gasped out weakly, before he could speak. His voice was thin and reedy, drenched in pain and shock. Steve reached out for his hands, but stopped when Tony flinched. They were twisted and bleeding as Tony held them awkwardly against the cracked case of the suit. 

Oh god, the arc reactor - she’d hit the suit hard enough to damage it. Steve tried not to panic that it might be broken. He ran his fingers over it. The covering in the suit was cracked, but as far as he could tell, the actual reactor underneath was fine. It still glowed blue, with no wavering or flickering. 

“Iron Man's down, we need medical evac ASAP,” He spoke into his comm, flooding with relief when he got the affirmative reply. They were on their way. He glanced down the alley, but no more aliens had appeared. By the sounds of things, they had mostly been contained by the others. “Faceplate up, Tony,” he said carefully.

The metal slid back, away from Tony’s face, and Steve tried not to look as panicked as he felt. Tony’s nose was bleeding, a streak of dark, caked blood covering his mouth. The skin around his right eye was already darkening with a horrible bruise, emphasized by the extreme pallor of his skin. His breath was coming in rapid, choppy gasps.

Steve slid his fingers between Tony’s neck and the armour, finding his pulse point. It was rapid and uneven. Tony was in shock. He needed oxygen.

Steve took a deep, careful breath and cupped Tony’s cheek with his other hand to try and hold his focus. “You have to breathe slower, Tony, you're hyperventilating. Breathe with me.” 

Tony’s eyes found his face and he followed the rhythm Steve set, still hitching as pain twisted his features. As they breathed, Steve worked on removing the mangled Iron Man suit, being careful not to jostle Tony's injured hands. By the time the medics arrived Tony was mostly free from the suit, and his breathing had slowed somewhat, though still not enough to satisfy Steve.

The medics swarmed around him like piranhas, obscuring Tony from view as they shot him up with painkillers and wrapped his destroyed hands. When they stepped back, his pupils had already blown wide and drifted out of focus, a faint smile brushing across his face now and then. SHIELD clearly had the good stuff.

They probably needed him on clean up, but Steve couldn’t let Tony go to medical alone. He hopped in the back of the transport, rolling the edge of the shield through his fingers as they drove along. Tony was clearly fully out of it, which was all for the best as Steve didn’t know what to say to comfort him anyway. His hands were just one big mess of fluffy gauze which was somehow worse than seeing them broken and bleeding. 

He was struck with the wild panic that the doctors might not be able to save them. Tony without use of his hands was...unthinkable. He was all hands - manic building and touching and messing up his wild hair.

Tony interacted with the world by disassembling it and putting it back together better. He would be destroyed if he couldn’t use his hands. Steve wouldn’t have cared if he lost all his limbs, but Tony would be gutted.

Steve also had the horrifically selfish thought that if he made a move on Tony while he was hurt, he might think it was out of pity. Tony was the kind of self-defeating wreck to take that the wrong way. But thinking about how close he’d come to having his chest caved in or his arms ripped off, just made Steve want to kiss him more.

With Tony drugged into calm, Steve found himself feeling the panic on his behalf and he spent the rest of the trip to medical trying to follow his own advice about breathing.

They whisked him straight into surgery, leaving Steve alone to fret in the hallway. He took the time to check in with the team and give them a fairly useless update, since there wasn’t much he knew anyway.

What he did know was that Tony was alive, he was breathing, the arc reactor was okay, his head was okay. At worst, he would have permanent damage to his hands, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, he just repeated over and over to himself,  _ Tony is alive. _

A nurse bustled down the hall past him and suddenly he felt silly, like he should have left and come back when they called him. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do, waiting around here. But try as he might, he couldn’t get up and walk away while Tony was unconscious on an operating table down the hall.

It was a couple hours before the surgeon came out to talk to Steve. Two pins, two casts, a distressing number of fractures, but apparently looking good, all things considered. The surgeon believed that with SHIELD’s advanced support and Tony’s naturally tough system, he would bounce back just fine.

“Might be a little nerve damage,” he acknowledged. “Maybe some dull spots, arthritis later, but overall he got off pretty lucky, it seems.”

Steve thanked the doctor, then collapsed on the stiff plastic chair in the waiting room. He let out a long slow breath. Tony was  _ alive,  _ Tony was  _ fine.  _ He texted Nat with instructions to spread the news, then sat for a long time, thinking nothing but relief.

Then it really hit him: Tony was going to have both hands in casts for six weeks.

Tony  _ Stark _ was going to have  _ both hands  _ in casts for  _ six weeks. _

This was not going to go well. He needed a plan. A plan to keep Tony sane, the other Avengers sane, and the Tower standing by the end of it. It was another few hours before he was allowed in recovery and he spent the whole time pondering the best approach.

He decided there was no way he was going to keep Tony out of the workshop so their best hope was to station Bruce in there with him to keep an eye on him. Tony wouldn’t resent Bruce’s presence as hovering or nannying, but Bruce was a wonderfully tempering influence on the wild engineer.

There, he had a plan.

It took two days for the plan to go completely off the rails.

Steve was finally almost through his After Action reports on the snake monster incursion, when Bruce appeared at the door to his office, teeth clenched and eyes pinched, a worrisome tension in his shoulders.

“Tony is using, or rather  _ attempting _ to use, the blowtorch and DUM-E is wearing a sash that says ‘Fire Safety Ossifer,’ a role he’s taken to with gusto.” Bruce shifted into the light and Steve noticed the damp sheen to his shirt. Yikes. “Oh and I’m pretty sure, Tony’s been washing down his narcotics with scotch.”

Steve could hear the unspoken, “and I can’t deal with it anymore,” tacked on to Bruce’s speech. Steve sighed. Guess Tony had figured out that Bruce was on babysitting duty. Tony had a very real history of blowing things up even when sane and sober, so the risks to himself - and the team, and the building, and possibly Manhattan - were very real.

“I’ll take care of it,” Steve assured him. Bruce walked out, headed for his floor and Steve pushed his chair back with a screech. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to approach this. In the end, he decided to just wing it and if push came to shove he could finally kiss Tony silly and maybe distract his manic mind for a minute or two at the least.

The door to the workshop slid open and Steve came to a halt. Tony was sitting on the floor, pieces of the damaged iron man suit scattered around him. He had a welding torch wedged between his right hand and his foot, and was dipping a piece of bent metal into the flame with his left. His left that had no glove, but was covered in very flammable gauze. 

Steve stormed in. “What are you doing?!”

Tony looked like a five-year-old caught with an upended bucket of paint - more proud of his ingenuity than ashamed of his misconduct. “I feel like this is some kind of trick question.”

Steve bit back about fourteen different curse words, a few choice letters still leaking out as a frustrated squeak. Tony was staring at the flame coming out of the torch like he couldn’t remember what it was for so Steve switched it off and set it on the table.

“Tony you're hurt, you're drugged, and you're probably drunk.” Tony had the good sense to look slightly chastised at that. “If you don't kill yourself with this you'll at least burn the tower down which won't be great for team morale. What made you think this was a good idea?”

“In all honesty, it was probably the aforementioned drugs and alcohol, but for good reason, Cap. I have a huge pile of things to do.” Tony shrugged and rocked up to his feet. “I'll give it to you on the fire, maybe that should wait.” He grabbed for a screwdriver from the workbench, looked at it for a moment then wedged the handle into his cast, like some bizarre screwdriver-holder. He flashed Steve a very unsteady smile and started trying to unscrew something incredibly awkwardly.

Steve sighed. “Tony, stop,” he commanded, gently. He reached out and wrapped his fingers carefully around Tony’s forearm, stilling his hand so he could slide the screwdriver free. As he moved to grab it, he looked over at Tony and realized how close together they’d come. Tony’s mouth was right there, inches from his, and he couldn’t seem to look away.

His brain screamed,  _ This is it!! Kiss him!!” _   Steve got as far as tilting forward, his eyes locked on Tony’s mouth, but before the point of no return he flicked them up to gauge Tony’s reaction and what he saw brought him to a screeching halt. 

His pupils were wide and unfocused, the dark circles around his eyes larger and deeper than usual. The alcohol on his breath smelled strong enough to fuel a jet engine and there was a slight tremor in the arm Steve was holding.

Tony wasn’t really there, he was tired, doped up, and drunk and Steve didn’t want their first kiss to be like that. Tony’s gaze had gotten stuck on Steve’s hand where it was wrapped around his arm. He hissed out a long, controlled breath and wobbled a bit in his grasp.

Steve sighed. He pulled the screwdriver as gently as he could out of the cast but winced when Tony flinched. He expected it to have hurt, but Tony snatched the screwdriver back, turned it around and jammed it back in the cast. Tony moaned as he rubbed the metal end against his skin and Steve firmly informed his body that it was not to react to that.  _ No, seriously. _

Tony needed rest, and Steve needed to be away from him for a bit to catch his breath. The last thing his broken teammate needed was a super-strength groping. “If I let you take the screwdriver with you, will you go upstairs and get some rest?” he tried, trying not to stare at the extremely distracting faces Tony was making as he wiggled the tool deeper.

Tony pouted, looking around at the messy workshop in dismay. “The suit is totaled. I need to fix it, it's going to take ages and I want to be ready to go when these damn things come off.” 

“They're never going to come off if you don't take care of yourself,” Steve replied. “It's a chance to have a break, Tony. You need it. Take it.”

Tony stared up at him. God, he had the best puppy-dog eyes Steve had ever seen in his life, and Darcy had sent him a gif of that cat from the ogre movies. Tony’s were better. Steve could feel himself softening. What he really wanted to do was pick him up, haul him upstairs, and tuck him in himself - okay  _ with _ himself - but he had a feeling Tony wouldn’t respond well to being manhandled like that.

What Tony wanted was to work, to feel useful. Steve could understand that - sometimes it was all you had. “Okay, make me a deal. You go upstairs and get four hours of real rest - no reading, no building, no drawing plans with JARVIS - and I’ll meet you back down here and help you work on the suit.” If Tony couldn’t use his hands, Steve would be his hands.

Tony looked at him critically for a short moment, then nodded. “Deal.” He turned away, heading for the stairs. He only made it a few steps before he turned back, plucked the screwdriver off the worktop with two precarious fingers, then spun around again, cradling it lovingly.

Steve watched his back as he sauntered off, and frowned. That had been too easy, what had he - oh. “Tony?” Steve called after him. “You have to be sober.”

He heard Tony swear under his breath as he marched off towards the elevator.

As soon as Tony disappeared, Steve let out a long breath. The workshop always felt charged and alive, but being here alone now, he realized that was just the energy Tony carried around with him. With its master elsewhere, the space was calm and quiet. The lights were dim and the air was kept cool in an attempt to counteract the heat of a million moving parts.

There was a deep humming sound that reverberated through the air; Tony was always so loud he’d never noticed it before. It was a pleasant sort of white noise. Steve wandered around the room, a bit aimlessly, his eyes glancing off piles of  _ things _ and careful diagrams of  _ stuff. _

Nothing made him feel stupider than trying to understand Tony’s work, but in a good way. A proud, impressed sort of way. 

He blushed hot as memories of the almost-kiss flooded his brain. It was starting to get frustrating, how many almosts there were. Tony wouldn’t make a move, which was disappointing enough, but it seemed that the universe didn’t want to give Steve a chance to make a move either. And now, with Tony’s hands, he didn’t even know if it would be fair.

Is it taking advantage if the other person can’t tie their own shoes at the moment, let alone slap you for being impertinent?

That led Steve’s mind down an amusing path where Tony got all huffy and Victorian-style offended when Steve tried to kiss him. But then for some reason that took an abrupt turn into thinking about Tony smacking him for other reasons, in other places. Steve leapt away from the worktable he’d been leaning against - as if it had somehow beamed the thoughts into his mind - blushing furiously.

Well, he was no longer interested in working on his reports, and he was one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t be able to focus anyway, but he couldn’t sit down here fantasizing and then face Tony in four hours without self-combustion being a real possibility. He needed another distraction, so he plucked a book at random off Tony’s shelf and settled down on his couch.

**

It took nearly eight hours for Tony to reappear. His hair was sticking straight up, he had sleep around his eyes, and he spent a solid thirty seconds staring at Steve in silence before he shuffled over to his worktop and starting poking pointlessly at the pieces of metal.

Steve had gotten up several times - for food, or to use the bathroom - and every time he had tried to get himself to go do something productive while Tony slept. Instead, he had come right back down to the workshop. He told himself it was because he wanted to be here when Tony awoke, to prevent him from starting in again on his own, but it was a silly excuse. JARVIS could tell him when Tony was up.

The truth was, Steve just liked it down here. 

As soon as Tony’s recently awoken brain came back online, and his voice returned, he started bossing Steve around. There seemed to be a surprising number of things that needed picking up off the floor that were then not used at all. Steve caught Tony’s reflection in a sheet of metal, giving his butt an appreciative look the next time he bent over to shift something pointlessly to the side. At least Tony’s desire wasn’t in question. All he wanted to know was whether he was ever going to want to do anything about it.

In the end, Steve found Tony pretty easy to work with. He wasn’t good at explaining what he needed, but Steve was a fast learner and he started to see the patterns pretty quickly. Tony would point with one of the few, sad fingers he had access to and Steve would screw, unscrew, hammer, bend or whack whatever he was pointing at. 

“That’s very impressive,” Tony breathed out, when Steve pulled apart two twisted pieces of metal with his bare hands. Steve looked up and there were two spots of pink high on Tony’s cheeks. He tried not to smirk - of course Tony had a thing for watching metalworks in action.

They worked in silence for a while, but Tony seemed to be squirming with something he wanted to say. Finally, while Steve was unscrewing his way across the large front panel of the armour, it came out. 

“So are you waiting until I’m better to yell at me for pulling that shit in the alley?” Tony’s voice was light, but there was a pained undercurrent.

Steve’s hands stilled where they worked. Part of him did want to yell at Tony. Part of him wanted to scream and shake and beg him not to do anything like that again. His eyes flicked over to Tony’s casts. But part of him also wanted to roll Tony in bubble wrap and never let him out of the tower again, so clearly not all of him could be trusted to make good decisions.

“I think you learned your lesson on that one already,” he replied carefully. His brain helpfully supplied a vivid, full-colour, surround sound memory of Tony’s hands being crushed.

Tony shrugged. “I think we are all aware of how bad I am at extrapolating from negative consequences.”

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t disobey orders. I just - “ Steve cut off before he could say something stupid like  _ wish you would stay within sight of me at all times. _ Even as far gone as he was, Steve could acknowledge the logistical problems with that plan. 

“Just what?” Tony pressed, never one to leave an awkward conversation to die in peace.

_ I wish you would start taking your own well-being seriously. _

_ I wish you would stop being the most likely member of the team to get hurt. _

_ I wish you would fall asleep beside me at night so I had something to look forward to when I have to let you go during the day. _

What he finally went with was, “I wish you would tell me when you were going to do something unbelievably stupid like that so I could cover your back.” Steve swallowed, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Finding you there. I came around the corner and she had you - I - it was horrible. I really thought she was going to kill you, Tony. That I wouldn’t get there in time. That I would have to watch.”

He expected a witty comeback so he lowered his eyes to the screws in front of him so Tony wouldn’t see the pain in them.

“I’m sorry.” Tony’s voice was small and honest and Steve snapped surprised eyes back to him. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think about those things. Any concern for my well-being has always been centered around stock prices.”

Steve gaped across the table at him. Had someone really said that to him at some point? It was horrible. “Do you really think that? Tony, you’ve got plenty of people who care about you.”

Tony shrugged again. “Really? I mean really, honestly, Steve. I’ve never been good at cultivating relationships, I know that. It’s fine.” He waved it away with his hand, as if that would make it not hurt. “It’s just - it’s why I’m not a very good team player. No one since my mother died, except Rhodey, has cared what happens to me. And Pepper. Though I think sometimes Pepper - as much as she loves me - wonders if her life would be easier if I didn’t come back from one of our missions.”

Steve was halfway off his stool before he realized he was moving. He didn’t know what he planned to do but he felt an intense need to do  _ something. _ Hug Tony, hold him, shake some sense into him. He hadn’t been joking - it wasn’t one of his self-deprecating cracks. He really thought that. That no one would be sad if he died - that Steve wouldn’t be ripped to shreds. 

Steve took a few breaths to get his voice under control before he spoke again. Going over what he wanted to say three times before he said it out loud. “I care about you, Tony. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t like seeing you in pain. Please don’t think no one cares.”

His mouth dropped open - and why was this surprising to him? Did he really not see how much Steve needed him around? Tony blushed and tapped his feet against his seat. “Umm, yeah, okay. Well, thanks? I guess. I’ll give you a warning next time I’m going to be an idiot.”

Steve just nodded, sure if he opened his mouth again something way too much would tumble out. They sat, in not entirely comfortable silence, for the next few minutes. Steve finished the patch of screws he was working through and reached towards the next one.

“Wait.” Tony waved a cast-covered hand vaguely towards the entire work surface. “You have to do that one first.”

Helpful. Steve tried a screw at random. “This one?”

Tony managed to heave a sigh through his entire body then hauled himself off his stool to march around to Steve’s side of the table. He leaned over Steve, stretching across the work table to point out the correct screw, but Steve’s attention was entirely occupied elsewhere. All he could do was stare at the sudden lapful of Tony he’d received with no warning whatsoever.

Tony had his legs braced against the stool, his stomach stretched over Steve’s thighs so he could hook his elbows on the edge of the table. He was gesturing, explaining something about screw order, but Steve didn’t hear a word. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears as Tony all but climbed on top of him in his efforts to reach the screw in question.

After a moment, Tony seemed to realize how bizarrely close together they were and he slowly shuffled back up until he was standing straight, his legs still pressed against the edge of Steve’s stool where they’d been braced. 

“Um.” Tony didn’t move away as Steve watched the almost-word fall from his lips. 

_ "THIS IS NOT A DRILL!” _   his brain screamed. Tony leaned, wide-eyed, into his space, but then stopped, stunned. Steve could feel the warm press of his body, all along his side, the firm pressure of one cast Tony probably didn’t even realize he had rested against Steve’s thigh. 

His eyes were clear, if a bit dazed, his breath smelled like cinnamon toothpaste instead of bourbon, and he was looking at Steve -  _ really looking at Steve. _ This was his sculpture moment.

Steve leaned forward and pressed their lips together, tensed, ready to bounce back if Tony seemed hesitant. But he didn’t; he let out a tiny squeak of surprise then leaned into it. Steve thought maybe he should back off now, give Tony a breath, ask him what he thought, but Tony gasped out a little breath against his lips and Steve wasn’t sure he could stop for anything.

He pushed up off the stool, as Tony’s lips parted and let his tongue slid inside. He grabbed Tony’s hips - to steady him and to bring them closer together - and Tony groaned and pressed his crotch against Steve’s thigh. 

The kiss seemed to break some dam in Tony and he suddenly threw himself full force at Steve, tasting and kissing and rutting against him. Steve was pretty sure if he’d had use of his hands, he would have scaled Steve like a monkey up a tree.

“Can I suck you off?” Tony asked out of nowhere and Steve had to send an urgent message to his fingers not to grip Tony’s hips hard enough to break them too. He took a steadying breath, allowing himself the brief fantasy of Tony on his knees in front of him, then shook his head.

“You have two broken hands, Tony. I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

He hadn’t actually planned on asking him to do anything - he’d barely gotten past the idea of kissing him - when Tony huffed out, “Then please tell me you want to fuck me,” in a desperate, broken voice.

Tony was still talking, but Steve wasn’t listening. His brain had screeched to a halt somewhere around “fuck me” and it wouldn't come back online. He heard Tony saying his name over and over and he pulled him back in for a filthy kiss.

He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. And Tony was here, and Tony was sober, and Tony was giving it to him. It felt too soon, and yet at the same time, it felt like it had been forever. He steadied himself with a deep breath, pulling Tony bodily against him. He opened his mouth to say, “are you sure,” but what came out was, _ “Yes.” _

Tony groaned at that and pressed even harder against him, making desperate begging noises into his mouth. Steve set to work on his clothes quickly, both embarrassed and aroused that with Tony handsless, all the undressing would fall to him. He slid his hand up under Tony’s shirt, along his ribs. He was warm and soft, but with ripples of tight muscles underneath. 

Steve needed him naked. Now.

Steve grabbed the zipper on Tony’s jeans and he leaned back, arching his hips up into Steve’s hands, bracing with the arms he had wrapped around Steve’s neck. “God. I never thought I’d find opposable thumbs so fucking hot.”

By leaning back, Tony exposed the length of his neck and Steve couldn’t resist diving in, breathing in his scent, running his lips over the pulse point he’d been terrified to lose just two days ago. He stripped Tony out of everything but his boxers, being careful not to catch anything on his delicate hands, and got as far as his own shirt hitting the floor before he needed his hands and mouth on Tony’s skin again. 

Steve ran flat palms over every inch of Tony that he could reach, reveling in him, the freedom of finally being able to touch. He slowed their kisses, sliding his tongue along Tony’s lips, memorizing how every inch of him felt with his hands, how every breath of his tasted across his lips. 

He scraped his nails over Tony’s jutting hip bone, earning a groan and a twitch. Tony’s casted hands banged uselessly against the back of Steve’s head. “Steve, I just - I - I can’t, ergghh,” Tony huffed out and Steve stilled, stepped back, concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Tony’s cheeks were pink and there was a line of light bruises dotting his neck and shoulder. He looked wild, eyes lust-blown, and pouting in a dangerously sexy way. The sight made Steve’s mouth water.

“I can’t touch you,” Tony whimpered, waving his casts in Steve’s general direction. It was funny, and sweet and so  _ Tony. _

Steve reached out and ran his palm around the curve of Tony’s jaw. “I’ve got you,” he told him. Tony let out a little squeak, then stumbled forward into Steve’s arms. He pressed his face into his chest, but Steve cupped his jaw and lifted it so he could kiss him all over - nose, cheeks, eyelids - anything he could reach. He dropped his hands and finally pushed Tony’s boxers down, leaving him naked. 

God, he was beautiful. Even with both hands covered in blue fibreglass, Tony naked was the most incredible sight Steve had ever seen. He gathered him close again, nibbling a path down his shoulder. Tony relaxed into his arms, letting Steve have his way, no longer tense. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” Steve admitted, trying to ease any last doubts Tony might have.

Tony swallowed hard, his hips hitching forward and desperate little thrusts. “I’ve wanted to do this for  _ thirty years,”  _ he gasped out. “I used to jack off to your comic books.”

Holy shit.

Steve paused in his ministrations, face still buried in the hot skin of Tony’s neck. Tony went very, very still.  

Steve hadn’t even known Tony had read the Captain America comic books, let alone  _ enjoyed _ them. He had a rather vivid thought of teenage Tony alone in his room, late at night, with only a bedside lamp on, flipping through images of Steve in full costume, hand wrapped around his cock.

He took a steadying breath, not wanting to end this before it had even begun. “That’s actually kinda hot,” he managed to choke out. Tony let out a breath like a tire leaking air then swore.

Steve urged Tony up into his arms, then pressed him back against the wall. He had the passing thought that their first time should maybe be on a bed, or at least a couch, especially with Tony injured, The noises Tony was making, though, and the way he rolled his hips made Steve one hundred percent sure there was no way they were making it to a soft surface. 

Tony also seemed to really be enjoying this position and so was Steve for that matter.

He held Tony up easily with one hand and slid the fingers of the other one into Tony’s hot, eager mouth. Tony kept his eyes locked on Steve’s while he sucked and his breath caught, mesmerized by the sight, and imagining what that would feel like around his cock instead. 

Steve’s patience was already at a breaking point and he suddenly snatched his fingers back when Tony swirled his tongue around them, and pressed their mouths together instead. He reached around Tony’s thigh, unable to wait any longer and eased a spit-slicked finger inside him. 

They rocked together in silence as Steve worked Tony open. His body wanted  _ more _ and it wanted it  _ now, _ but Tony was moaning and writhing on his fingers in such a delicious way that he managed to hold out, keeping the edge off by teasing the head of his cock against Tony’s ass.

He thought again of Tony’s confession - getting himself off, erection in one hand and an image of Steve in the other. It was painfully appealing “Tell me about it,” he whispered against Tony’s skin, wanting more, wanting everything at once.

It took a moment for Tony to clue in to what he was asking. “I thought you were too clean cut.” he groaned. “I wanted to get you all dirty.”

“What did you want to do with me?” Steve pressed.

“I wanted to come all over you. Cover you. Muss you up. Prove you’re not perfect.”

Perfect? Perfect was an armful of Tony. Perfect was the noises every roll of Tony’s hips pushed out of his throat as he fucked himself on Steve’s fingers. Steve wasn’t perfect.

“Give me more, Steve, please,” Tony choked out, desperate and that was the last of Steve’s resolve. He pulled his hand away and pushed his pants the rest of the way off. He slicked up his hand with spit again, twisting it around the head of his cock to spread the precum around.

He braced Tony more solidly with his arm, then started to guide him down on his cock. The wet, tight heat of him snatched his breath away.

Suddenly, Steve needed to know. “Did you ever think your fantasy would come true?”

“Never.” Tony kicked his hips forward and moaned. “I’m still not even sure it’s really happening,” he revealed quietly.

Somehow that admission was what shot the lightning bolt of arousal up Steve’s spine, pushing him into a wilder rhythm. He snaked his free hand in between their bodies to wrap around Tony’s hardness.

Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Steve.” His voice was amazingly wrecked. He bucked up into Steve’s hand and fell back down onto his cock. “Not much longer.”

Steve wouldn’t be much longer either, not with Tony looking so debauched, riding his cock and fucking his hand. He leaned forward until his mouth was against Tony’s ear. “I want you to come all over me, Tony. Get me all dirty. Show me what you want.”

That was apparently enough to send Tony over the edge. He arched against the wall, his body clenching and releasing as he came hard all over Steve’s chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted out. He looked glorious - sweaty and wrecked, face twisted with pleasure. 

When he was sure he’d fucked Tony through his orgasm, Steve pressed forward urgently, wrapping both hands around his thighs and surging up into him with renewed vigour. Tony was in an orgasmic haze, eye half shut and body limp as Steve rolled his hips forward again and again. 

Tony groaned and tipped his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder. He ran his tongue all the way from the tip of Steve’s shoulder to the edge of his jaw, then bit into the thick flesh of Steve’s neck. 

Steve’s hips stuttered forward, involuntary noises slipped out between clenched teeth as he finally found release, pulsing deep in Tony’s ass.

For a few minutes, the room was quiet, save for their panting.

Tony’s hoarse voice finally broke the silence. “Oh god, I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

Steve muffled a laugh against his skin. Of course Tony wasn’t one for sappy pillow talk. Or, wall-talk as the case may be. He ran his hands along Tony’s sides, not quite willing to give up the warm press of his bare chest just yet. “I burn, like, 6000 calories a day. I’m always hungry.”

Tony arched his back, shifting on Steve’s thighs, but not asking to be let down. “Let’s go make pancakes.”

Steve pictured Tony, wearing nothing but his novelty Avengers apron, flipping pancakes with a spatula wedged deep in one his casts, and the screwdriver in the other, and almost laughed out loud. He finally let him go, stepping back and sliding him carefully to the floor, mindful of his casts. He cupped those casts, as Tony stepped back a little wobbily, and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“How are you going to cook with these?”

Tony raked his shameless gaze over Steve’s naked body. “Let’s go watch  _ you _ make pancakes,” he corrected.

Steve laughed, unable to resist the urge to brush his knuckles along Tony’s cheek. “Yeah, okay.”

It took them a while to get started - Tony kept hiding his shirt in the workshop until he gave up on it entirely, then distracted him by babbling incessantly about pancake mix while he tried to remember where he’d left the cooking oil. Finally, he was stirring and the pan was heating.

Tony fell suspiciously silent once Steve poured the first circles of batter in the pan. He glanced up from cooking and Tony was staring at him in absolute agony. “What’s wrong?”

Tony’s face shifted from pain to a cheeky pout. “I’m still pissed I couldn’t get a handful of you. Seems very wasteful. When there’s so much good to touch.” He leered at Steve’s bare chest.

“You’ll have to be patient.” Steve winked at him. “A couple more weeks and you can touch whatever you want.”

“Really?” Tony blurted out.

Steve looked at him. Tony was honestly surprised. What did he think this was? A one-time thing? He was making him pancakes, for crying out loud. “Of course.” He tried to sound encouraging.

Tony looked back down at his casts, six or seven different emotions all warring for territory on his face. Confusion, fear, and a desperate sort of hope seemed to be winning out.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Tony was struggling with this. His complete lack of emotional security, coupled with his clear feeling that no one could possibly care about him, made it hard for him to accept what Steve was offering. He tried to give Tony space to work through it on his own - if he pushed too hard, he might bolt.

Eventually, he couldn’t watch Tony suffering anymore and he set his spatula down and shuffled over to where Tony sat, perched on the countertop. He tucked his hips between Tony’s knees, leaning into his space. “You’re okay, Tony,” he whispered, pulling him in for a kiss and trying to pour as much promise and caring and stability into it as he could.

Tony blinked back at him, a little dazed. “Okay,” he finally breathed out and Steve smiled. He’d get there - Steve wouldn’t let him run. He rubbed his palm up and down Tony’s thigh, encouraging and grounding at the same time.

Tony had relaxed significantly by the time their plates hit the table. Steve let him babble about what he still had left to work on over their meal, careful not to wander into relationship topic territory again. 

By the time the pancakes were done and the dishes put away, it was time for their weekly Avengers movie night so they hustled off to one of the common spaces to meet the team. 

Steve was worried to see Tony drift off to sleep before the opening credits were done, but then pleased when he sent himself to bed only a short while later, instead of waiting to be bustled off by someone else.

Tony shot Steve a heated look on his way out of the room and he considered taking the bull by the horns and following him upstairs. Tony should sleep though, and Steve was fairly confident that getting them both in bed wouldn’t result in much of that.

Steve found his attention wandering shortly after Tony said goodnight. He couldn’t get the image of him pressed up against the wall, wrapped around him and smiling, out of his head. And then the look on his face in Steve’s apartment - the sheer panic. It was unsettling. Tony had to know how much Steve cared for him now - right?

Sure they’d been dancing around each other for a while, but it was mostly silliness. Enjoying the anticipation, not an actual fear of rejection. But maybe for Tony it had been different. Maybe he hadn’t been able to see how gone for him Steve was, how lost he was without him.

His memory yet again supplied the image of Tony at the end of the alley, trapped in the grasp of a real mortal threat. His heart skipped a beat.

Tony needed to know how much he needed, wanted, loved him. And words wouldn’t do it. Tony didn’t put much stock in words, he needed to be shown these things, even if it took months  - years - Steve would show him.

He made his excuses and tripped up the stairs to his apartment, immediately pulling out his big art trunk and spilling supplies all over the floor. He selected a halo of pens and spread them out around a large sheet of white paper. He knew exactly what he wanted to draw.

An hour into sketching out the panel, his phone buzzed with an urgent order from SHIELD. He had to ship out in four hours and he’d likely be gone for two days. Damn. It was terrible timing, leaving when he and Tony had barely had time to settle this thing between them. What if he came back and Tony had backed out completely? Left alone to twist his panic-prone mind up into knots, who knew what conclusions he’d come to.

Steve eyed his bed from the living room floor where he’d been drawing. It looked warm and comfortable. He looked back down at the partially finished sketch. And picked his pens back up. He had four hours to finish.

**

The mission sucked, his team sucked, everything sucked. He was irritated, sore, and muddy in places he didn’t think Captain America should have to get muddy - it was like desecrating the flag.

He punched the buttons in the elevator harder than necessary and scowled at the lights as they progressed along the floor numbers. When the doors finally dinged open, he stalked his way along the hall and into his apartment.

He wanted a shower, a bag of some disgusting, 21st-century, junk food, and his bed. Instead what he got was - 

“Tony?” His sleeping form was curled up on Steve’s couch, but at the sound of his voice he leapt awake, startling to his feet and banging his casts around awkwardly until he got his bearings. His favourite screwdriver was wedged deep in his left cast, but Tony didn’t seem to notice.

“Steve?” His voice was sleep-slurred and dopey. He looked like he’d been out for ages. He looked beautiful. “I didn’t want to blow anything up cause you so disapprove of that, so I came here to take a nap and wait for you. I think that was like, four days ago.”

Steve chuckled. “I’ve only been gone for two days, Tony.”

“Well, it felt like four.” Tony pouted and extracted himself fully from the couch. When he moved Steve could see his gift from the other night lying on the table. Tony had taken it out of the envelope. He blushed, seeing it again, laid out so obviously. It was one thing to draw it alone in the dark and entirely another to see it displayed on his coffee table in the middle of the day. 

It was a large comic panel, trying to mimic the old Captain America comics Tony apparently liked so much, coloured here and there with pencils, and edged with black ink.

The background was bits and pieces of Tony’s workshop. Comic Steve had Tony pressed up against the wall, an echo of their earlier activities. Steve’s uniform was half-off and disheveled, the shield resting on the floor a few feet away. Tony wore nothing but a zipper hoodie, wide open, in a red and gold pattern Steve had tried to make look like his armour, one shoulder slipped down to his elbow.

Tony’s amazing hands were free this time and one dug its nails into the skin of Steve’s back while the other threaded through Steve’s hair, holding his face in Tony’s throat. Tony’s head was thrown back, flushed and grinning, his eyes reflecting the beautiful blue light from the arc reactor. 

In the corner, Steve had scrawled his initials and, “See you soon.” In his mind he’d added, “I hope.”

Tony followed his gaze to the table and he squirmed a little. Eventually, he gestured towards it with the screwdriver he still hadn’t removed. “Is this how you see me- us?” he asked shakily.

Steve took a breath and crossed the room, dumping his bag and stripping off the outside layers of his uniform on the way, until he stood in front of Tony. “This is how I’ve always seen us, I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Tony gazed up at him, wide-eyed, a huge smile blooming across his face. Steve couldn’t help but grin back, pulling Tony in against him with a finger hooked in his belt loop. Tony tipped forward and kissed him, then pulled back as Steve drew a line of kisses down his throat. “So you, I dunno. You - ?” Tony asked incoherently.

“Yes, Tony. I love you,” Steve told him decidedly, pulling their hips together briefly, then guiding Tony back down to lie on the couch. He plucked the screwdriver free and set it aside, then he crawled over Tony’s prone form, plucking at his clothes, and skating tongue and teeth over whatever patches of skin he could find.

“But what if I set stuff on fire, or get panini-pressed by a sadistic reptile again, or don’t listen to you, or - or ask you to do something really weird in bed.” Tony arched into his touch, grinding his thigh up between Steve’s legs.

Steve snorted. “I’m just glad you haven’t asked for a threesome with that screwdriver yet, I think you like it more than me.”

“Be nice to Scratchy, he’s my- “ Tony cut off as Steve started sucking a bruise just over his hip. “Yeah…”

Every day. He’d show him every day until he saw it too.

**

_ Two years later… _

Steve paced nervously around the penthouse, picking things up at random and putting them down in weird places. Tony had to have found it by now, there was no way he hadn’t. 

He fiddled with his phone nervously. He didn’t want to text him, he wanted to  _ see _ him. He had assumed Tony would come up as soon as he found it, but it had been ages since he went down to tinker (or at least it felt like ages) and Steve hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. If Steve called or texted and summoned him upstairs but he  _ hadn’t _ found it, he’d know something was up the second he saw Steve’s face and that would ruin it all.

Eventually, Steve forced himself to sit on the couch, staring at the TV without processing what was playing. 

He’d spent all last night on the new comic page, while Tony slept. It wasn’t that unusual - one more sketch of the two of them to add to the now-massive stack in the bottom drawer of Tony’s desk. Some of them had been difficult to hand over - whenever he wanted to try something new but he didn’t know how to ask, he’d draw it instead. But this time it wasn’t the art that had him all worked up, it was what he’d scribbled in the corner.

The door clicked open and Steve’s heart rate shot into overdrive. He stayed sitting, waiting in tense silence. Tony walked around the couch and Steve could see the envelope clutched in his hand. He couldn’t read Tony’s expression and his stomach clenched worryingly.

Tony considered Steve for a moment, then sat, straddling Steve’s legs with a knee on either side of his hips. There was nothing Steve loved more than a lapful of Tony. He reached out and ran flat palms along his thighs, reveling in the way Tony pressed into his touch.

“This is the corniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Tony finally said, waving the envelope at him. But he was smiling now, wide and warm.

“So?” Steve asked, vibrating with anticipation.

“So, what? Am I interested in tying myself to this super-soldier forever? I mean, I kinda thought I already had, but if you wanna make it official.”

Steve broke into a grin. “What can I say, I’m old-fashioned.”

“You? Old-fashioned? You watch reality TV and your Starbucks order is longer than mine. You’re officially a millennial, Sweetheart, deal with it.” Tony wriggled his hips forward a bit to settle more fully on Steve’s lap then leaned forward and kissed him on the end of his nose. “But you wanna do this.”

“I do.”

Tony clapped a hand to his chest. “Whoa, save it for the altar.”

“So, is that a yes?” Steve slid his hands up the back of Tony’s shirt, appreciating all the warm, soft skin he found there.

“Sure, I’ll marry you.” Tony shrugged. “Why not, good excuse for a party.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Wow, that’s romantic.”

Tony grinned, his tongue peeking out between his teeth. “I leave the romance up to you, Sugar Plum.”

“You can be romantic, Tony. Remember that thing you did last night with your tongue?” Steve slid his fingers along the waistband of Tony’s jeans to help jog his memory. “That was pretty romantic.”

“Fuck yeah, I can be romantic,” Tony breathed out, arching into the touch. He pulled Steve up into a heated kiss. “Let’s go be romantic together,  _ Fiance. _ ”

Steve laughed outright at that. At least until Tony ran his tongue up the side of his neck and his laugh turned into a moan. Steve lurched to his feet, clutching Tony to him as they tripped off to the bedroom.


End file.
